


The Promise

by LadyFogg



Series: Angel with a Shotgun [4]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John promised to save your soul and that’s exactly what he intends to do. However, his magic isn’t strong enough and he has no choice but to turn to a former enemy for help. When he finally reaches you, nothing could prepare him for what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Fic Song: https://play.spotify.com/track/41UD6BFqLLz6wn25Kvumgr

There is no whiskey strong enough to dull the pain. Not that there ever was when he lost people in the past, but he could at least pretend. There is no pretending this time.

He sits on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, staring at the mirror above the fireplace.

He has never been more grateful for the magic device. With tired eyes he watches the reflection of him and Lola, gaze focused on her face as she laughs at something his past self said. He chances a look at himself and is startled to realize how happy he seems. He’s talking animatedly while Lola wraps her arms around her stomach, succumbing to the laughter.  

He wishes he knew what he was saying to make her laugh so hard. He doesn’t remember when this particular scene happened. Ever since the incident with the darkness, his memories are a bit jumbled. It’s not known whether or not they will ever fix themselves, but he at least takes solace in the fact that he still remembers some of their time together clearly. The mirror helps. At least with his memories of her at the Mill House.  

Now he remembers. The mirror memory happened about three weeks after they had returned from the cruise. She had surprised him with a visit. He watches as she sits with her back against the armrest, legs stretched out horizontally across his lap. She’s talking and his mirror self is listening intently, a soft smile on his face.

What John wouldn’t give for the mirror to have sound. To hear her voice again, even if it’s just an echo.

“John?”

Chas is calling him.

John doesn’t answer. He focuses harder on Lola’s mouth, trying to read her lips. But she’s talking too fast and he can’t keep up. Now his mirror self is laughing and she is staring at him adoringly. They could almost be a happy, normal couple if he didn’t know any better.

Real John puts his empty glass down, but it’s only so he can pick up a cigarette and slide the end between his lips. He lights it and takes a deep drag, closing his eyes and letting the nicotine do its work.

“John, where are you?” Chas calls again.

Still John doesn’t answer. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and exhales the smoke. He already knows what Chas is going to say. He’s said it a million times and John is tired of hearing it. Yes he’s still moping. Yes he’s going to keep sitting in front of that mirror. Yes he’s going to keep drinking. Yes Chas can kindly go fuck himself and let John seeth with anger, resentment and guilt. Hasn’t he earned the right after everything he’s been through over the past seven years?

John is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the sound of flapping at first. “Chas is calling you.”

He opens his eyes and glares at Zed. She’s leaning against the wall by the fireplace, arms crossed and a disapproving look on her face. If it wasn’t for her eyes, he could almost believe she never died. But she had. And now she’s an angel.

He gets that he’s always been a right bastard, but did the universe have to shit on him so much?

“He knows where to find me,” John says sharply. He takes another deep drag, exhaling the smoke as he turns his attention back to the mirror. Mirror Lola is now sitting right next to him, her body pressing into his as she leans in to say something to him. Probably something naughty, if the look on his counterpart’s face is any indication.

Chas enters the room then, clearly annoyed. “There you are,” he says gruffly. “I was calling you.” John gives him a noncommittal shrug. Chas makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat before he looks over at Zed. “How long as he been sitting there?”

“Twelve hours,” Zed says.

Fourteen actually. But he’s not about to correct her.

“Jesus, John…”

At this John turns his glare on them. “Sod off, both of you,” he snaps, sitting up and pulling his ashtray across the table to rest in front of him. “The rising darkness is eradicated, Astra’s soul is at peace and I have my own back. I’m done.”

“No, you’re not,” Zed says. “There are still demons running wild. The veil is healing, but slowly. There’s still work to do. We’re doing what we can, but we need someone on the ground to help with the cleanup.”

“Let someone else bloody do it,” John says. He grabs the half-empty whiskey bottle and refills his glass. “I did my part.”

“Yes, you did,” Chas says. “But there are still people who need help.”

“Bollocks to them.”

“John, Lola wouldn’t want you to--” Chas begins.

“Don’t!” John snaps cutting Chas off and pointing his cigarette at him. “Don’t you dare play the ‘Lola wouldn’t want’ card. Neither of you even knew her. You don’t have any idea of what Lola would have wanted.”

“Fine, then tell us,” Zed says. “What would she want you to do if she was here?”

John gives her a wry smile. “She would have wanted me to say ‘fuck you’ and pour her a drink,” he says. “Then we’d fuck like rabbits until the pain went away.”

“Well, you have the first part down,” Zed says as Chas moves to take the whiskey bottle away from John. The blond doesn’t fight him, but only because he has more stashed elsewhere. He sucks on the end of his cigarette one more time before extinguishing it in the ashtray.

Zed’s not wrong, though he had tried the second. After what happened, John had been to every bar and club in a hundred mile radius and had taken home any man or woman who showed the slightest interest. It had been for nothing. They weren’t her. None of them even came close to what he really wanted. Eventually he decided to just stick with whiskey.

“John, it’s been four months since the funeral,” Chas says. “Won’t you consider at least taking one case?”

Ah yes, the funeral. John remembers it well. It had just been the three of them and Anne Marie, who had come to check on John and had stayed to do the service. John didn’t know who else to invite. Lola had never mentioned family or other friends. If Zed knew of any, she wasn’t at liberty to share the information. John had only agreed to the funeral because Chas had insisted. Thought it would bring closure. It hadn’t.

“Look, I appreciate the failed attempt at a pep talk,” John says. Mirror Lola and Mirror John are getting closer as he puts his arm around her. “But, as I said before, _sod off!_ ”

Chas sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go see my daughter,” he says, turning his attention to Zed. “Make sure he doesn’t succumb to alcohol poisoning.”

John watches as Chas walk away without barely a backwards glance. He’s clearly frustrated, but John can’t bring himself to care. Once Chas is gone, John looks at the mirror again. Mirror Lola drapes herself against him, moving in for a kiss. Mirror John reciprocates eagerly, but it doesn’t last long because she pulls away and stands, taking him by the hands. She tugs him off the couch and leads him across the room, walking out of the mirror’s frame. A ghost of a smile passes over John’s face.

“You really miss her,” Zed comments.

John tears his eyes away from the now empty mirror to grab his glass. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have angel things to do?” he asks sharply, getting to his feet. His muscles protest after sitting still for so long. He didn’t realize how much he drank until his head starts swimming. Even so, he takes another swig of his whiskey.

“I do, but I’m worried about you,” Zed says. “So is Chas. So is Anne Marie. She called me. Said you aren’t answering your phone.”

“Not really in a chatty mood,” John says. He should have known Anne Marie would call Zed, and he should have known Zed would answer. Just what he needs. Two more people constantly checking up on him.

“I don’t get it, John,” Zed says. “You’ve lost people before. Why is this so different?”

The fact that she groups Lola in with everyone else bothers him. He has lost plenty of friends and family, but never lovers. Not permanently at least. Never someone who didn’t expect more from him than he was able to give. Never someone he hadn’t pushed away himself. Lola never held him to any expectations. She knew who he was and what he was capable of. She never let him take advantage of her and hadn’t been afraid to tell him where he could shove it if she wasn’t up for his shit.

That’s what made her sacrifice so much harder.

He thought if he kept things casual she wouldn’t get attached to him, wouldn’t fall for him. But she had. And despite every best effort, he had fallen for her as well.

“Take your pick,” John says with a glare. “Because yet another person was killed because of me, because I was forced to relive my worst memories while simultaneously killing the people I love, because I saved Astra and myself but only at the expense of the one person who gave me any comfort since you died…”

“John--”

He holds his hand up to stop her. Anything she says won’t mean a damn thing to him so he should save her the trouble. “I don’t need a babysitter, love,” he says with a forced smirk. “Go do your Godly duties. Help with the cleanup. I’ll be just fine here.”

Zed looks like she doubts his words, but she does have her own mission to continue. She sighs and straightens herself. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she orders. “I promised Lola I would look after you.”

Of course she did.

John puts one hand over his heart and holds the other up in a mock salute. “Scouts honor,” he says.

Zed gives him another doubtful look, before she disappears. Once she’s gone, John knocks back the rest of the whiskey in his glass and takes one last look at the mirror. Jasper wanders into the room and John gives his dead friend a small nod before dropping his cup back down on the table. He runs a hand through his hair as he leaves the living room.

He walks down the hall towards his room, but at the last second he changes direction and goes for the door right across from it. He casts a look over his shoulder to make sure Zed is really gone. Once he’s sure that she is, he reaches into his pocket and pulls the key out. He unlocks the door and hurries in, closing it behind him.

The walls, once nicely decorated have had their wallpaper stripped and are painted with protection runes and symbols. Some are to ward off evil, others are to shield the room from angels or anyone else who would be curious about its contents. John is glad to know they work. Most them he had learned long ago, others he had found in some of Lola’s journals when he was packing up her stuff.

That had been another tough day. To go to her loft and collect her belongings. He stored them where he kept Zed’s things, say for a few of Lola’s personal books. Those he had kept for himself and had found himself thumbing through them from time to time.

If Chas or Zed saw what he is keeping in this room, they would probably kill him.

Lola looks just as she did four months ago, perfectly preserved due to his spell. John sighs and moves to sit on the chair by her side. “Hello, love,” he says softly, reaching out to take her hand.

When Chas wanted a funeral, John had almost told him it was unnecessary. He had decided as soon as he preserved her that he wouldn’t tell anyone else what he was working on. He knew if he told Chas and Zed what he had done, what he was trying to do, they would do anything in their power to put a stop to it. To them, Lola had made her choice and was gone. There was no saving her soul. John disagreed.

So he had forced himself to watch as they buried the glamoured corpse of a Jane Doe he had taken from the morgue. Forced himself to say parting words he didn’t feel, and lied when they asked why he never visited her grave.

It was also the other reason he was ignoring Anne Marie’s calls. She would know. She knows him better than anyone else and just one phone call will have her summoning Zed and telling on him. So, he was forced to put forward the wounded soldier act. Well, it wasn’t an act, not completely at least.

Despite what they thought, he had been busy. He had gone through all of the spells he knew personally to try to connect with her soul. When that failed, he had moved onto Jasper’s books, trying to find something he hadn’t tried yet. Any attempt failed however. John wasn’t sure why. The demon is gone, so it can’t be blocking Lola from John. Psychics are out of the question. Now that Zed is an angel, and was a former psychic herself, he can’t trust them.

A part of him felt that his magic just wasn’t strong enough anymore. Maybe it was because his soul is back to normal, or maybe it was because he isn’t recovered from his fight yet. He couldn’t say. He’s been trying to figure it out, but until he does, he just grits his teeth and keeps his struggle to himself.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says. “But, I hope so. Talking to you helps a little.” He pauses, trying to decide whether or not he should voice his true feelings. He decides there’s no reason to keep things to himself while he’s there with her. “I miss you, more than I ever would admit if you were ali--awake.”

Awake. Not alive. Because she’s already alive. Technically speaking.

With his free hand he reaches out to stroke her hair. “Sometimes I wonder what your soul is being subjected to simply for being close to me,” he continues. “I imagine I’d have nightmares about it if I still dreamt at all. Just know, whatever hell you’re going through, I will save you from it. I swear it.” He brings her hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss on her knuckles.

There is still one thing he hasn’t tried. One person he could talk to. He just doesn’t know what it will cost him and he had wanted to exhaust all his other avenues before reaching out. But it’s been four months and he’s getting desperate. It had been a long time since he last spoke to him, but after the whole business with the bounty on John, they had made amends. Well, as much as the two of them could. He had been the one to confirm Manny was indeed playing for the wrong side.

Now all John has to do is figure out how to get in touch with Papa Midnite and what he can offer him in return for his help.  

“You’ll be happy to know my soul is still here, all mine again,” he says, resting one elbow on top of the bed as he lets go of her hand. “Magic isn’t quite right though. Dunno why. Memories still jumbled, but getting a little better. The mirror helps. Showed me that time after the cruise when you surprised me.” He smiles at the memory. “You were a saucy minx that night.”

His smiles fades however as he starts to feel foolish. Sitting there, talking to the body of his comatose lover. He needs sleep. His eyes droop and his head starts to pound as the makings of a hangover start to take shape. He stands and leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well, love.”

It gets harder each time to leave the room. But he does it, locking the door behind him. He shuffles into his own room, discarding his shirt along the way. Stripped down to nothing but his boxers, he collapses onto his bed drawing up a fuzzy, light blue blanket. He had found it in Lola’s loft and it still smelled like her. He wraps himself in the warmth and promptly passes out.

\--

Knocking. Loud knocking.

John comes back to the waking world with a pounding headache. He groans and pulls the pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise. Chas must have forgotten something or had come back to check on him. “Bugger off,” he shouts towards the door as he pulls the blanket up over his bare shoulder. Maybe it’s not Chas, maybe it’s Zed. Though she would probably just appear by his bedside and physically shake him.

The knocking isn’t stopping so he forces himself to sit up. He untangles his legs from Lola’s blanket and slides out of bed. The world sways dangerously and he fights the urge to be sick. He really should have eaten something before going to bed. Too late now. He crosses the room and yanks the door open. “What?!”

“You need my help I hear,” Papa Midnite says in a bored tone.

The absurdity of him being there is enough to make John think he must still be drunk, or hallucinating. He squints through the bright light of the hallway, fixating on the tall man standing before him. “How the bloody hell did you know that?” he asks, bewildered and more than just a little confused. “And how the bloody hell did you get in my house?”

“You forget you aren’t the only one with magic, John Constantine,” Midnite says with annoyance. “Now what can be so important that you have the spirits screaming for my attention?”

Did he? That’s news to John. He had only considered reaching out to Papa Midnite the previous night. Maybe he channeled something in his drunken state. Wouldn’t be the first time and most likely won’t be the last.

John lets go of the door and moves back into the dark room towards his dresser. He pulls one of the drawers open and takes out a white t-shirt. “I’m surprised you answered the call,” he says, yanking the shirt on over his head.

“Believe me, it was not by choice,” Midnite says, eyes scanning John’s room sharply, as if he’s waiting for something to come at him. He probably thinks he was lured into a trap, and John can’t really blame him. It’s the nature of their relationship. The definition of frenemies. “The world has been unbalanced since the thinning of the veil. I’ve been working to restore things as they were. Last night you came to me in a vision.”

“Did I now?” John says, grabbing a pair of pants off the floor. He steps into them and pulls them up around his hips. Once he does the button, he grabs his carton of cigarettes off the top of the dresser.

“I tried to ignore you, but the spirits kept sending me your image,” Midnite says. “You do not recall doing this?”

“Can’t say I do, mate,” John answers, popping the end of a fresh cigarette into his mouth. He picks up his lighter. “I did drink quite a bit yesterday though, so that’s not surprising. But, you are right, I do need your help.”

Midnite stares him with his ever piercing eyes. “Your soul,” he says slowly. “It’s...yours.”

“That it is,” John says, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. “Good as new.”

“Not quite,” Midnite says, making John frown as he eyes him up and down. “It is missing something.”

“That would explain why my magic hasn’t been what it should be,” John says, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “What’s it missing?”

“I do not know,” Midnite answers. “Is this why you called?”

“No, actually, but it may be connected,” John says. He walks towards the door and Midnite has to step to the side to let him pass. “Follow me.”

He leads him across the hall to Lola’s door. “What is in this room that you need to keep protected with such powerful magics?” Midnite asks, hands up in front of him as he senses the wards John put in place. Of course he’s too strong for them to work on him.

John doesn’t answer. Instead he fishes in his pocket for the key and unlocks the door. Once Midnite crosses the threshold into the room, his eyes fall on Lola instantly. He turns to glare angrily at John. “You are a fool, John Constantine! How dare you preserve this girl and prevent her from passing?”

“Save me the morality speech, voodoo master,” John snaps, taking another drag of his cigarette as he closes the door behind Midnite. “She’s not fully dead.”

“No, but she should be,” Midnite snaps back, crossing the room to examine Lola. He takes careful steps around the bed in a single circle before moving to sit on the edge. “What happened?” He reaches out to pass his hand over her body.

John relays the story of the Rising Darkness. About how he ate the heart. About how he killed Manny. About how he took the demon into himself. About how Lola had stayed behind to finish off the demon while he managed to awaken.

“So you want to place her soul back into her body,” Midnite comments.

John nods, cigarette dangling from his lips. “That’s right,” he says. “Can it be done?”

Midnite doesn’t answer at first. He reaches out to take Lola’s hand and closes his eyes. John’s not sure what he’s doing, but he assumes he’s trying to sense her spirit. John’s just as good as Papa Midnite (though he would argue he was even better) but his magic isn’t what it used to be so he holds his breath, hoping the dark-skinned man will have the answers he needs.

Eventually Midnite opens his eyes. “This body is connected to yours,” he concludes.

John snorts and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “Oh we have been connected a fair few times, mate,” he says. “Make no mistake about that.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Midnite snaps with a glare. “Her magic is connected to yours. Do you know how this can be?”

John suspects it happened when they were fighting the Succubi. He had used some of his magic to unlock hers and it must have created a link. He had suspected as such when he was able to access her dreams. Never had the chance to talk about it or explore it further. It probably only got stronger over the years the more she worked on her magic. When she connected her consciousness with his…

“So we are tied to each other magically,” John says, extinguishing his cigarette on the polished wood of the dresser by the door. He walks over to sink into the chair by her bed. “Is that why my magic isn’t working right?”

“Yes,” Midnite says. “She isn’t whole, so you aren’t whole.”

“Can I bring her back?” John asks. “Get her soul and put it where it belongs? Wake her up?”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Midnite asks in response. “Do you want to drag this poor girl back from the afterlife so that you won’t be lonely?”

“That’s not what this is,” John says sharply. “She sacrificed herself to save my life. Too many people have died and been damned because of me. I cannot let it happen again. Not to her. She deserves better.”

“Her runes prevent me from searching for her myself,” Midnite says. “I suspect it’s why you’re also having trouble. This girl is crafty.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” John says with a grin. “So we take a page from her book. Send me after her soul. Astral projection. I tried myself but it didn’t work. Between the both of us, I think we can manage.”

“There is no telling what you will find there, what you will have to endure to bring her back,” Midnite says. “We don’t know where her soul is.”

John doesn’t care about that. He will do what he has to. “What’s the price?” he asks. Because there always is one.

“Her body and soul must be tethered to yours to keep her in this life,” Midnite says. “You are already connected. We need to strengthen that connection so you can find her and bring her to her body. Your connection to her is the only thing that isn’t shielded from her tattoos.”

“Aye, I’ll pay that price,” John says instantly. Bring Lola back and the only downside is her being spiritually connected to him? There are worse prices to pay. He’s already paid some of them.

“There will be no reversing of this spell, John Constantine,” Midnite warns. “Should she leave your company, should you part ways, she will still be connected to you. You will feel her pain. She will feel yours. If you die, she will never feel complete. And if she dies, neither will you.”

 _I don’t feel complete now,_ John says to himself.

He meets Midnite’s eyes with a stern look of his own. “I understand, _can it be done?_ ”

“Yes, it can,” Midnite finally admits. “But it must be done soon. The longer she’s in this state, the harder it will be.”

“Now,” John says, straightening his chair so he’s facing Midnite fully, Lola lying between them. “Let’s do this now.”

“Constantine, you are in no shape to do this ritual,” Midnite says warningly.

“You said we don’t have time,” John says pointing an accusing finger at him. “You came here knowing I needed help. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can leave and the sooner Lola will wake up.”

“Foolish man!” Midnite says. “You never learn! Always trying to escape your fate. Always trying to bend the rules! There will be consequences to this!”

“And I will suffer them,” John says. “Just like I have before.”

“You won’t be the only one.”

“I promised her,” John says in a low tone, refusing to break eye contact with Midnite. “I promised her I wouldn’t leave her behind.”

Midnite clenches his jaw and stares back at John, as if wrestling with his own conscience. Eventually he takes a deep breath and holds out his hand. The door bursts open and a large bag flies into the room, coming to rest next to Midnite’s feet. He bends down to open it and John watches as he pulls out several candles and other summoning tools.

Knowing he isn’t going to argue anymore, John gets up to help him.

They set up Midnite’s altar next to the bed, silent the entire time. Once that’s complete and Midnite begins his meditations, John removes the protective salt circle from around Lola’s bed before reaching into the nightstand to pull out her knife.

“What is this going to cost me?” John eventually asks, as Midnite stands up from his kneeling position in front of the altar. “From you?”

“A favor,” Midnite says. “One day I will need your help, and you will answer my summons.”

“As long as you leave her out of it,” John says. He reaches across the bed, holding his hand out to Midnite.

Midnite purses his lips, but takes John’s offered hand and shakes it. “Now, come to this side and lay down next to her,” he orders.

John obeys without question, moving to the other side of the bed and stretching out next to Lola so that their shoulders are touching. He takes Lola’s right hand. “Sorry about this, love,” he says softly before he drags the sharp edge across her palm. He does the same to his left hand before handing the knife to Midnite.

The voodoo master puts it on his altar with his other items, while John takes Lola’s hand. He links their fingers together, squeezing tightly so their blood mixes together.

“You must clear your mind, Constantine,” Midnite demands, coming to stand by John’s side of the bed. “Focus on her and only her. You will not wake until you bring her back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” John says impatiently.

“For your sake,” Midnite says, causing John to look him in the eye. “I hope she does not hate you for this.”

“At least she will be alive,” John says.

“Being alive isn’t always better,” Midnite says.

John clenches his jaw tightly to keep himself from saying something snarky. Because the last thing he needs right now is to anger the one person who can help him. Instead he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Midnite begins the ritual, and John tries everything he can to clear his mind and focus on Lola. He focuses on the feeling her hand in his, on the smell of her skin, the feeling of her warm arm pressed against him.

He remembers their times together. When they first met, the first time they had sex, sleeping with her on the couch, Johnny and Lola, her mouth against his…

Eventually Midnite’s voice begins to fade and John feels himself slipping through the veil.

\--

The sun hits you directly in the face and you groan, raising your hand to block it out. You forgot to close the curtains again. Damn. You were hoping to sleep in just a little bit. A warm breeze wafts through the open window and brings with it the smell of summer. You open your eyes, blinking against the brightness until they adjust.

You’re snuggled in bed, but now that you’re awake you know you won’t be able to get back to sleep. So, you stretch luxuriously.

Mid-stretch, you hear the sound of footsteps outside your door and you immediately bury yourself under your pillow and blankets. The door to your bedroom opens and the footsteps grow louder. You try not to make a sound as they approach your bed. You feel the end of the bed dip as whoever entered your room climbs on.

Suddenly, the blankets are yanked away and you squeal with laughter.

“Found you!” your daughter says excitedly, throwing herself at you.

You catch her immediately. “Oof! Morning, little goddess,” you say with a grin, giving her a series of kisses all over her forehead. “How did you sleep?”

“Gooood!” she gushes between giggling, trying to free herself from your grasp. “Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

“Of course, sweetie,” you say, moving to sit up. “We picked those blueberries yesterday. Have to use them.”

“Yay!” your daughter says excitedly. “I can help make them, right?”

“I don’t know,” you say teasingly. “It’s kind of a big job.”

“I can do it!” she insists stubbornly. “I’m not a baby, Moooom.”

You snort with laughter. “Go, brush your teeth and change out of your pajamas, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Your daughter rolls out of bed and runs out of the room. You chuckle at her enthusiasm and slide out of bed yourself. You change out of the clothes you slept in and into a simple sundress. Next you run a brush through your sleep mussed hair before going over to the window. You lift it the rest of the way open and smile as you look out. Another beautiful sunny day. However, your smile falters as you see something in the distance.

It’s hard to tell what it is and you practically have to lean out your window and squint to see. It’s a person. Funny, you weren’t expecting any visitors today.

Something in the way the person is walking is shockingly familiar, and when they draw closer it’s with a start that you realize exactly who you’re looking at.

“Holy shit,” you say.

You draw yourself back into the room and book it into the hallway. You are barefoot as you hurry down the stairs, through the living room and out the front door of the cottage. You come to a stop halfway down the path to the front gate as the person you saw comes to a halt just as you do.

“John?” you ask.

John’s eyes are wide. “Lola,” he says so softly, you almost miss it. Your face breaks into a smile. He pushes open the front gate and you run to each other. You fling your arms around his neck and he scoops you up into a tight hug, spinning you once in a circle. Your feet touch the ground and you laugh happily before pulling him into a kiss.

He slides his hand into your hair and holds you firmly in place as he kisses you back, his mouth as hot and demanding as ever. He draws away and gives you a lopsided smile. “It’s good to see you, love,” he says breathlessly.

“It’s good to see you too,” you say, your own smile so wide it’s actually hurting your face a little. You push his hair back from his forehead. It’s a little shaggy. He could use a haircut. “What are you doing here? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you. I have to admit, didn’t think I really would considering…”

“You know where you are?” John asks, smile fading.

“Of course,” you say. At his haunted look, however, your smile also fades. “Why? Where do you think we are?” After a second you pose a different question. “Why are you here?”

“I came to find you,” John says. “I came to save your soul and put it back into your body.”

Shit. You should have known. Fuck, he’s going to be so pissed. You take his hands in yours. “That may be a little difficult. Come inside,” you say, nodding towards the cottage. You try to pull him, but he resists, eyeing the cottage warily.

“Lola, we shouldn’t go in there.”

Of course he would be suspicious. “John, it’s not what you think,” you say. “Come inside. I promise it’s safe.”

“We need to go,” John says, pulling you back towards the gate.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, resisting him this time.

“Lola, whatever you’ve been seeing, it’s not real,” John says. “Demons--”

“Don’t exist here,” you tell him. “John, this isn’t Hell.”

Confusion passes across his face for a moment. “What do you mean?” he asks. “The demon--”

“Died,” you tell him. “As did I. This isn’t Hell. This is Heaven.”

John actually snorts with laughter and you frown at him. “Come off it, love,” John says. “It’s just a trick the demons are playing on you. Listen--” He takes your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. “--whatever they are projecting for you, it’s not real. Whatever they are showing you is a trick. They’re just trying to confuse you, to keep you from fighting. I’m here to bring your soul back.”

You sigh and gently pry his hands away from your face. “This isn’t Hell,” you repeat. “I know that.”

“How?”

“Mommy?”

You both turn towards the door, where your daughter stands, half hidden. “It’s okay, sweetie,” you say, extending your hand towards her. “You can come out.”

Your daughter takes a few cautious steps out from behind the door before she pauses to stare at you and John. You chance at glance at him, but his expression is hard to read. You still see the recognition and shock in his eyes. It’s not hard to figure out who her father is. She has the same blond hair, though closer to his naturally dirty-blond and not the bleached blond he likes to sport. She has his face shape too. And his steely gaze.

She walks over and takes your hand, hiding behind you shyly.

John finally looks at you. “Lola?”

“Come inside, John,” you say, holding your free hand out to him. “I’ll fill you in.”

It takes a moment, but eventually John takes your hand and allows you to lead him towards the cottage. Your daughter wriggles free from you and skips ahead. You suspect she’s going to hide out upstairs. She gets that way around new people. That’s okay. You wouldn’t want her to hear what you both are going to talk about anyways.

Once inside, you lead John into the kitchen, where you both take a seat at the table.

“I’m sorry you wasted your time and magic coming here,” you say.

John is quiet, jaw clenched. He looks over at the stairs, where your daughter is peeking down at you both. She ducks behind the wall to avoid being seen and you chuckle.

“This is Heaven then,” John says. He sounds like he can’t process it. But you know he has no choice but to accept it. There are no dark feelings. No lurking sense of dread. Just peace. You wonder if he even recognizes the feeling.

You nod in response to his statement. “I know you thought the demon would drag me to Hell. I did too,” you say. “But, it died before it could. So my soul passed on...here. I would have thought Zed would have told you.”

“Zed knew,” John asks in a low dangerous voice. He shakes his head with disbelief and sits back in his chair. “Of course she bloody knew. That’s why she...bloody fucking hell!” He then winces when he realizes what he said and glances up at where your daughter is hiding.

You laugh softly. “It’s okay,” you say. “I’ve said worse. She’s a good kid. Doesn’t swear.”

“Is she…?” He doesn’t finish the question you know he wants to. “I mean, is this what your idea of Heaven is? A cottage in the middle of nowhere with a family.”

You shrug. “I guess so,” you say. “I don’t really question it. After everything with Nyla I guess secretly I wished for normalcy. This is pretty damn normal and I love it. What I am curious about is how you’re here.”

“Long story,” John says. He doesn’t seem like he wants to elaborate and you decide not to push him.

“How is your soul?” you ask. “Do you have it back? Is it yours?”

“Yes,” John says carefully. He rubs his forehead and sits forward in his chair. “Lola, I’m so sorry about this. But you have to come back with me.”

“Um, I really don’t,” you say bluntly. “Kind of digging it here in Heaven. Besides my body is dead already. I’d have to possess someone and that’s definitely of no interest to me.”

“Your body isn’t dead,” John says with a wince. “I put a preservation spell on it after I woke up.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” you snap. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t know what happened to you!” John exclaims defensively. “Your body was dying and your soul was fighting the demon that took mine and Astra’s. Did you think I was just going to sit back and let it happen again? Let it take you again?”

“You were supposed to!” you tell him.

“As were you,” John says back. “Looks like neither of us can let the other go.”

“Why do I have to go back?” you say. “Give me one good reason.”

“Because that’s how the spell works,” John says. “We go back together, or not at all.”

You run a hand through your hair and get to your feet. You start to pace. “You’re telling me, in order to save your ass again, I have to go back,” you say. “You’re telling me I have to leave Heaven, leave our daughter and for what? A cold, shitty world filled with monsters? How can you ask this of me?”

“I’m sorry,” John says, getting to his feet as well. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were here. If I had I would have let you go. But I can’t go back without you.”

You feel like crying. You feel like screaming. All those old feelings you had when you were alive come rushing back and your chest starts to heave as you try to keep in your sobs. “John, please don’t ask me to do this,” you say in a small voice. You look passed him at the stairs, where your daughter sits watching, with wide eyes.

“Lola, I need you,” he says, stepping into your space and putting his arms around you. “I can’t do this without you. My mission is done. The darkness is gone. I’m done with all of it. But that doesn’t mean anything if you’re not there.”

“I’m not, John,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek. “I’m dead.”

John takes your free hand and lifts it. There is a thin cut on your palm that you neither felt nor noticed. “No, you’re not,” he says. “This, this right here shows you are still alive.” He shows you his left hand with a matching cut. “You need to come back with me. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way for me to go back if you don’t.”

“Then stay here with me,” you urge him.

“Love, you know as well as I do, after everything I’ve done in my life, this isn’t where I’m going to end up when I go,” John says.

“It is, I know it is,” you tell him. “If saving the fucking world doesn’t count for something then saving all those lives must.”

“I can’t stay,” John says. “It’s not my time. Neither is it yours.”

“But…” You can’t really hold back the sobs anymore, but you try your hardest as you look over at the stairs again. Your daughter has finally descended and is taking careful steps towards you. John turns to look at her as well and runs a hand across his face before he kneels down to her level.

“Hey there,” he says in a careful, awkward voice. He’s never been good with children. He holds out his clean hand towards her. “I’m John.”

The young girl comes closer and gently takes his hand to shake. “You’re my dad,” she says.

John looks up at you before answering your daughter with a nod. “I guess I am,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I have to borrow your mommy.”

“Will you give her back?” the girl asks.

John smiles. “I will,” he says.

The girl hesitates for a moment before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. John freezes at the contact at first. But then he circles his arms around her and holds her close, savoring the feeling of his child’s hug. Something he will never know in his waking life.

Seeing them together is bittersweet. John won’t stay, which means you can’t stay.

Fuck.

You kneel down next to him and call your daughter's name so she can look at you. “Come here,” you say, patting your lap. Your daughter lets go of John only to cling to you. “Mommy has to go for a little bit,” you continue, choking back tears. “But I love you very much. And I will see you soon, okay?”

The girl nods. “It’s okay, Mommy,” she says. “I’ll go stay with Grammy for a bit.”

You can sense John looking at you questioningly, but you don’t meet his gaze. “Good girl,” you say. You hug her tight and place a large kiss on her temple. “I love you.”

When you let her go, she takes a few steps back and you and John stand. John slides his cut hand into yours and twines his fingers with yours. The last thing you see as your vision tunnels is your daughter smiling and waving.

\--

Strong hands are helping him sit as John comes to abruptly. His whole body feels like it’s been hit by a truck and suddenly his stomach churns unpleasantly. He leans over the side of the bed and vomits all over the floor.

“Easy, easy,” Midnite urges. He pats John’s back roughly before holding a cup to his lips. “Drink this.”

John takes a sip and immediately gags on the concoction. “Bloody hell, mate,” he chokes out, pushing Midnite away. “What is that vile drink?”

“Never mind,” Midnite says. “Just a collection of herbs to help to cement the ritual.”

The ritual.

John turns away from Midnite so he can look at you. You stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds before you force yourself to sit up. Every bone in your body protests. It feels like you’ve spent all day in bed, though you know it must have been much longer than that. You stare blankly down at your body. You’re back. Back in the mortal world. It’s cold. The smell of Midnite’s incense and candles stings your nostrils and your stomach bubbles unpleasantly. You look at your cut hand. The wound seals itself together, but leaves a scar.

“Lola,” John says, reaching for you, but you draw away.

Your peek up at him through the curtain of your hair, face twisted into an angry scowl. “I hope you know what you made me give up to come back with you,” you tell him, your voice hoarse and your throat dry. “And I hope you realize just how much I’ve sacrificed for you without ever needing anything back from you in return. And just know that I can never forgive you for this.”

John’s face hardens and his eyes narrow at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You know he wants to. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down his words.

Midnite leaves John’s side to come to yours, offering the same cup he gave John. “Drink this,” he says in a nicer tone than the one he used for John. “I need to know how you are feeling.”

You take the cup and down the horrible liquid without even wincing. “Cold,” you say, once you’ve swallowed. You hand the cup back. “Sick, angry. Like I want to punch someone.”

Midnite puts the cup down on the nightstand and takes your face in his hands to examine you. He pushes your hair back and lifts your eyelids slightly. “Your soul is intact,” he announces after staring deep into your eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. “You and John are now spiritually connected. You may leave his side if you choose, but you will share this connection until you die.”

“So basically for all eternity,” you say bitterly, casting a glare at John.

“I made you a promise to save your soul,” John bursts out angrily. “If Zed had told me you had moved on, I would have let you go. All I was doing was keeping my promise.”

“I never asked you to promise me anything,” you say, yanking away from Midnite. “I sacrificed myself to save your soul and free you from your deal. I sacrificed myself because you had finally saved the world and I didn’t think it was fair after everything fate has taken from you that it would take your life as well. All you had to do was let me go. _Why couldn’t you just fucking let me go?!_ ”

You don’t wait for an answer. You push Midnite out of the way and slide out of bed. You should be unsteady on your legs, but John’s spell kept you exactly how you were before you entered his mind. So you’re able to march from the room without so much as swaying. You have nowhere to go, and until you know exactly what the extent of this “connection” is, you know you shouldn’t leave. So you make your way into the living room instead.

There’s an empty whiskey glass on the table, but no whiskey bottle. You make a noise of annoyance before turning to the nearest shelf and moving things around. You finally draw out one of the bottle John has stashed and move to sit on the sofa. You pour yourself a full glass and knock back half of it in one gulp.

It burns going down your throat, but the feeling actually is welcomed. It washes away the potion Midnite gave you and moves to settle in your belly. Your stomach grumbles. You’re starving. But you still feel sick and just thinking about food makes you want to throw up.

You hear the floorboards creak and glance over at John as he comes into the living room. He doesn’t say anything at first, so you turn your gaze to the fireplace before taking another sip of whiskey.

Eventually John comes over and sits next to you. “You know why I couldn’t let you go,” he says after a moment.

Yeah, you do. You’re still angry, but it fades slightly and suddenly you feel an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. “So, what do we do now?” you ask him, finally turning your head to look at him.

He looks terrible. His hair is unruly, there are deep bags under his eyes and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. You realize that the exhaustion you feel isn’t yours, but his. John takes the glass from you so he can have a drink. He gulps down the rest of it before putting the glass on the table and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“We drink,” he says. “And we live. Together.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you say, shaking your head as you look at the fire. “The living part.”

“I don’t know if I can either,” John tells you. You can sense his hesitation before he reaches out to take your hand. Despite your anger, the feeling is comforting so you let him. “But I think we can figure it out.”

You sigh and wipe away the stray tears from your face. After a moment, you try to find the right words. “There’s something I should tell you,” you say, looking at him. “When I was there…”

But John shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want to know.”

You sigh again, but keep your mouth shut. Whether he doesn’t want to dwell on the realization there’s actually a Heaven or he doesn’t want you to torture yourself, you’re not sure.

So you will keep the message from his mother to yourself. Until he’s ready to hear it.

“So, anything need killing?” you ask, leaning against him so your head rests on his shoulder. “Because I really feel like murdering something evil.”

“Oh plenty of things,” John says, sliding his arm around your shoulders as you both sink back into the couch. “Whole world of demons out there waiting to be sent back to Hell.”

“Well, at least we won’t be bored,” you say, leaning forward to pour more whiskey into the glass. You hand the bottle to him before taking the cup for yourself and settling back against the cushions.

“That we won’t be, love,” John says, tapping his bottle against your glass in a mock toast. “That we won’t be.”


End file.
